


Needless to Say

by sunshinetina



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Falling In Love, Friendship, Friendship/Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 16:37:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2514593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinetina/pseuds/sunshinetina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco owns a bakery in Dortmund and Mario might be getting a little chubby because he buys something there every day. Marco doesn't mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needless to Say

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another prompt fill from the footy ficathon:  
> http://thesilverwitch.livejournal.com/31896.html?thread=608920#t608920  
> (Of course, it /has/ to be another short Götzeus fic. Someone, stahp meh!)

_Eating pretzels is bad for your health, especially if you just don’t stop eating them_. Mario shoves yet another pretzel in his mouth, rolling his eyes when remembering his mother’s words. How can eating pretzels be a bad thing? It surely is the only sane activity out there and certainly much better than having to work out or jog in the park.

 

Well, alright, maybe she has some right. Maybe Mario should stop eating _so_ much and diet a bit. Ok, stopping riiiiight at this moment. One more bite, ok, done. What now?

 

Mario puffs and stands up, deliberating on whether to throw the rest of the pretzel away (of course not, who would throw a pretzel in the bin?) and on whether the weather is the perfect condition for a run (it never is). He sighs, giving up on life it seems, and stretches his legs in preparation.

 

Running is awful. What is more atrocious is the fact that while running, Mario just _has_ to bump at every eating person on Earth and it’s just not fair to see their chocolate and candy bars and not having some. He closes his eyes, trying to drown himself into the next R’n’B song popping in his earphones, and to force his mind to not long for food.

 

But his eyes instantaneously open when he passes by _the_ bakery and his legs don’t listen to his inner voice and just freeze right on spot. Mario bites his lips, looking at the banner _Marcinho_ and silently judging himself for being so damn weak at the sight of the most delicious pretzels in the entire world (alright, maybe just in Germany). (And, alright, maybe the pretzels are not the only _delicious_ thing in the bakery.)

 

Mario starts biting his nails, hesitantly walking around but he finally whispers _fuck it_ (maybe a bit more loudly than he expected) and crosses the road. Sighs and decidedly opens the door. The man behind the counter turns to face him with a half-crooked smile and Mario mentally curses himself for the effect that smirk has on him. _Bastard, he knew I would come._

‘What would be today, hm?’ Mario opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted, ‘Ah, no, let me guess. Bavarian pretzels. Tons of them.’

 

Mario blushes almost immediately and looks at his toes, nervously fidgeting with his fingers. The other man laughs and Mario becomes even more anxious if possible.

 

‘The weather is perfect for a run,’ the man hums while picking the pretzels and carefully arranging them in the paper bag, ‘And I see you’ve used it.’

 

‘Yeah, you can say that.’

 

‘It’s amazing, though,’ the man throws a quick glance at the faintingly nervous Mario and smirks again.

 

‘What?’

 

‘You eat so much, yet your body is-…’ the man stops and gulps, trying his best to focus on the pretzels. Mario melts into a smile and the other man tries not to look at it, but fails miserably. His cheeks turn pink and he chuckles.

 

‘Should I take that as a compliment?’

 

The other man nods and puts another pretzel in the bag (it’s too much but he just wants to see this man smile a bit longer).

 

‘I am Mario, by the way. I come here every day and we still haven’t been introduced properly,’ he bites his lips and receives a nod in response.

 

‘Marco.’

 

‘Ah, _Marcinho_ is yours, then,’ they both laugh and Marco nods again before packing up and handing the paper bag to Mario, ‘How much?’

 

‘That’s on me,’ Mario sends him a puzzled look, ‘Celebrating our proper introduction, right?’

 

-

 

It’s needless to say that every morning, around 9-9.30 am Mario is at _Marcinho_ , babbling with its owner and tasting every single pretzel there was in production. The work-out is going worse with each day and Mario’s physique as well, but – hey! – at least there is something great out of all this. (It’s not the owner of the bakery, it’s the pretzels. Of course.)

 

But this day is kinda special. It isn’t even 9 am and Mario is trying his best to run (he can’t breathe, for God’s sake, he should definitely lose weight) but is highly unsuccessful and stops to catch a breath or two. Or tenths. Someone near him chuckles playfully and Mario turns around, lifting his eyes up. Marco smirks down at him and Mario lacks even the last breaths he had.

 

‘Good morning.’

 

‘It’s not that good,’ Mario whispers, ‘I. Can’t. Breathe.’

 

Marco chuckles again and puts his hands in the pockets of his sporting trousers. (Not that Mario minds, but, Jesus, those are too tight around the area of his……) Mario blushes.

 

‘Not working today?’

 

‘I do, actually. Opening a bit later. Wanted to jog a bit,’ Marco closes his eyes and breathes in-breathes out several times. Mario thinks that the man has the longest eyelashes ever. And when Marco opens his eyes and meets Mario’s staring at him, Mario opens his mouth in awe at their colour. Different shades of green, sparkling under the feeble morning sun. Marco smiles softly as they keep silent for awhile.

 

‘I waited for you yesterday,’ Marco’s voice comes out almost as a whisper and Mario’s heart skips a beat.

 

‘Ah, well, uhm…’ Mario points at himself, ‘I gained lots of weight, to be honest. Pretzels are great – they are the _greatest_ – but if I keep eating them, this would end up bad.’

 

Marco giggles and nods understandingly.

 

‘So you’re saying now I can’t lure you with pretzels and hot chocolate?’

 

Mario deliberates for a second, harshly biting his lips and then blushingly shaking his head, ‘N-no. I want to, but I better not. I envy you, by the way. How is it possible to work at such place and look so-…’ Mario stops himself before blurting out all the adjectives he has for Marco ( _sexy, appealing, beautiful, turning-on_. Fuck.), ‘…slim.’

 

Marco half-crooks another smile and shrugs, ‘I gained some weight too, after meeting you. I guess pretzels were never that appealing to me, but then you came around and they suddenly seem the best thing in the world.’

 

‘They _are_.’

 

Mario chuckles and looks at Marco who is softly smiling at him, his green eyes melting more with each second.

 

‘Who says you need to lose weight?’

 

Mario shrugs, ‘My mother. My brothers. Uhm… Everyone?’

 

‘Not me, though. I like you this way,’ Marco curses himself silently, ‘I mean… You look great like that. I can’t imagine you not being slightly chubby: you’ll lose your charm. Plus, you have abs, so-…’

 

Mario opens his eyes wide and Marco shakes his head.

 

‘I mean… Well, alright. I saw you changing your shirt some days ago, by the lake.’

 

They both keep silent.

 

‘Thank you.’

 

‘You’re welcome,’ Marco smiles and Mario reciprocates, ‘Want to have a pretzel with me?’

 

‘Marco!’ they laugh out loud.

 

‘I-… I just want to know more about my favourite customer,’ Marco sends a pleading look at Mario, ‘Hm? Just one pretzel?’

 

‘It’s never _just one_ ,’ Marco smirks again and Mario feels himself giving up, ‘Alright, but this one is on me.’

 

-

 

It’s even more needless to say that every morning, at 7.30 am, Marco waits for Mario in front of _Marcinho_ and they go for a jog, for some exercises and yoga in the park, or just for a simple walk. And no, neither of them loses significant weight, because every single morning, at 9.30 am, Marco takes Mario for ‘just one pretzel’ which turns out to be several pretzels, candies and huge cup of hot chocolate.

 

But one day Mario comes at 8 am, looking awful (the least) – with dark circles under his eyes, with frowny and pale face, and visibly shaking.

 

‘Are you sick?’ Mario just shakes his head in response, ‘Do you want to go in? I’ll open a bit earlier and we’ll have a tea or-…’

 

‘Marco, I am leaving.’

 

The words echo somewhere in Marco’s ears but his mind can’t properly comprehend them.

 

‘What?’

 

‘I am leaving Dortmund.’

 

Marco feels his mouth dry, his lips tremble, and his whole body freezing up, ‘Why?’

 

It is a breathless whisper and he knows he sounds pathetically helpless. Mario shrugs and shakes his head again, not daring to even look at Marco, ‘I found a great job there. In Munich, I mean. Plus, it’s closer to my home. You know I was born in Bavaria. I guess it was all just about time to go back.’

 

‘Why?’ Marco repeats, obviously not satisfied with the answer and Mario shuts up, ‘In Munich. In _bloody_ Munich. You could’ve gone to Australia!’

 

‘It’s not like that, Marco. I would come here and-…’

 

‘And what? Will you be here every single morning at 7 to run with me?’

 

Mario looks at his toes and shakes his head again, pouting, ‘I am sorry.’

 

‘No, don’t be. I have no right to judge you, it’s your life,’ Marco lets out a shaking breath, ‘Although I can’t deny it hurts. But that’s _my_ problem, not yours.’

 

‘It hurts me too, Marco, but-…’

 

Marco smiles sadly and makes this weird motion with his mouth (Mario learned that each awkward face of Marco meant something particular. This one was new to him, though.).

 

‘It’s not the same, Sunny,’ the nickname slips involuntarily but Marco doesn’t bother to explain it. He has already called Mario _Sunny_ in his mind. To be honest, since the very first time Mario entered his bakery and brightened it up like the sun itself.

 

Mario, however, notices and pouts even more, as though something has stabbed his chest.

 

‘I will miss our morning routines,’ Marco forces another smile, to which Mario responds with a sigh.

 

‘And I will miss…’ Marco expects _the pretzels, the hot chocolate_ , but Mario never fails to surprise him, ‘ _You_. I already do, actually. Come on, Marco, at least, look at me.’

 

Marco lifts his eyes up slowly and meets Mario’s brown ones shyly smiling at him, ‘What will happen now?’

 

‘We’ll keep in touch. Don’t worry, I won’t stop complaining about everything and everyone – I will burn your ears on the phone,’ Marco chuckles and Mario beams in _that_ smile of his, ‘And you’ll keep me updated on everything that happens in Dortmund, right?’

 

‘Should I send you packages of pretzels each week?’

 

‘That’s not a bad idea, to be honest,’ they both laugh, ‘You said you liked me better when I am chubby.’

 

‘True.’

 

‘But, Marco, pretzels are no more fun without you,’ he smiles shyly and blushes. Marco sighs and stretches his hand, wrapping it around Mario’s neck and pulling him closer. Mario lets out a muffled breath at Marco’s collarbone, ‘If you want to open bakery in Munich, you’re welcome.’

 

Marco laughs it off and Mario hums, face buried in Marco’s shirt, ‘I’ll think about it, Sunny.’

 

They stay like this – Mario pressed at Marco, and Marco running his fingers through Mario’s hair. Marco leans forward and nuzzles his nose at Mario’s temple, kissing it softly afterwards. Mario purrs and Marco lets a crooked smile.

 

‘Your pretzels will always be my favourite,’ Mario mumbles, ‘Because they are _yours_.’

 

Marco dares to continue with yet another kiss – this time on Mario’s neck, which sends a shiver through the shorter man’s spine.

 

‘My bakery would always be open for you, Sunny,’ Marco whispers before stepping back and cupping Mario’s red face in his hands and pressing their foreheads at each other, ‘My heart too.’

 

-

 

Mario leaves. Marco stays.

 

They both keep their promises, though. Every single morning, Marco wakes up to a phone call from Munich and the yawning babble from Mario about something absolutely irrelevant. Every single evening, Mario goes to bed to a phone call from Dortmund, updating him on things he doesn’t even care of.

 

Marco’s pretzels are still Mario’s favourite.

 

Marco’s bakery is still always open for Mario. And one day, months after, when Mario surprisingly visits it, he can’t help but spot the name is no longer _Marcinho_.

 

Mario smiles and when the preoccupied with clients Marco says ‘Thank you for eating at _Sunny_!’, Mario just knows that one more promise has been kept. Marco’s heart is still open for him.

 

And, _needless to say_ , so is Mario’s.


End file.
